Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, And then its shanks, They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' As cheeks o' branks." Guid-een," quo' I; " Friend! hae ye been mawin, When ither folk are busy sawin ?”3 It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', But naething spak; At length, says I, "Friend, whare ye gaun, Will ye go back ?" 66 It spak right howe1-" My name is Death, But tent me, billie; I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith,6 See, there's a gully !"7 “Gudeman,” quo' he, "put up your whittle, But if I did, I wad be kittles To be mislear'd," I wad na mind it, no that spittle Out-owre my beard." "Weel, weel!" says I, " a bargain be't; This while10 Come, gies your news; ye hae been mony a gate, "Ay, ay!" quo' he, an' shook his head, An choke the breath: Folk maun do something for their bread, 9 "Put out of my art."--Chambers. 7 A large knife. 10 An epidemical fever was then raging in that country.-R. B. "Sax thousand years are near hand fled, "Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan,3 The weans haud out their fingers laughin "See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, And cursed skill, Has made them baith no worth a D-d haet they'll kill. ""Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain : It just play'd dirl on the bane, But did nae mair. "Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, It was sae blunt, Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart Of a kail-runt." "I drew my scythe in sic a fury, Withstood the shock; I might as weel hae try'd a quarry O' hard whin rock. 1 This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is, professionally, a brother of the Sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once an apothecary, surgeon, and physician.-R. B. Worse. 3 Small village. Tobacco-pouch. 5 "Buchan's Domestic Medicine."-R. B. 7 A cabbage-root. 8 Tumbled. "And then, a' doctor's saws and whittles, He's sure to hae; Their Latin names as fast he rattles "Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees; He has't in plenty; Aqua-fontis, what you please, He can content ye. Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail clippings, And mony mae." "Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole1 now,” Sae white and bonnie, Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew; They'll ruin Johnnie!" Tak ye nae fear: They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh3 "Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae-death,* That Hornbook's skill Has clad a score i' their last claith, By drap and pill. "An honest Wabster5 to his trade, Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, When it was sair; The wife slade" cannie to her bed, But ne'er spak mair. 1 The grave-digger.-R. B. 2 Daisies. 3 Ditch. 4 A death in bed. 6 Did slide. "A countra Laird had ta'en the batts,1 An' pays him well. The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, 3 Was Laird himsel. "A bonnie lass, ye kend her name, In Hornbook's care: Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, To hide it there. "That's just a swatch5 o' Hornbook's way; An's weel pay'd for't; Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, Wi' his d-d dirt. "But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot, As dead's a herrin; Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, He gets his fairin !" But just as he began to tell, The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell Which rais'd us baith: I took the way that pleas'd mysel, And sae did Death. THE BRIGS OF AYR. A POEM. INSCRIBED TO JOHN BALLANTYNE, ESQ., AYR. THE simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill; 1 Bots. 2 A rumbling. 5 Sample. 3 Two-year old sheep. 4 Swelled. 6 Bet. Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed, And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field; With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose? 'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noontide blaze, 'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 1 Thatch. 2 Potato heaps. s Injury. 4 Smothered. |